Days Gone Bye
by Ediin Kosill
Summary: (Drabbles) There was a reason Thranduil did not wish for his son to love outside of his royalty. He had already scarred the bloodline with Legolas' mother, a mysterious young woman by the name of Fiel -Thranduil/OC obviously, rating may change to M due to future content. Nothing sexual -
1. Chapter 1

**_*sigh* SO…this came from an admiration for the beautiful Elven king that is Thranduil. Need I say more? Please review, fav. and follow if you don't mind…real simple…type the letters, click the buttons…do iiiiiit. _**

**_NOTE: This is not a full story (for the moment) more like simple snap shots of a relationship that we didn't get to explore in the movies (or did we? I'm kind of lost while writing this)_**

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><p>He was watching her from the roots of a bowing elder tree. His fingers grazed over the tips of the broad leaves above their heads, eyes faintly sparkling as she murmured sweet words into the thin, pliable, limb she cradled in her right hand. She smiled against the bark, eyes darting around, as though the tree were telling her all of its secrets. He smiles ever-so-slightly, pushes himself from the rough bark of his seat and begins to move towards her.<p>

But she turns on him.

And she smiles, all teeth and he can't help but freeze. But he doesn't show that he finds that smile to be the most distracting thing about her. For the moment.

She lets go of the tree branch, reaches out to him. His eyes flash to the silver band baring the symbol for infinity on her left wrist and twist, catching that wrist with skill full fingers. Her expression falls, her eyes soften and then she giggles – coming back to reality – as he spins her in a light circle. Her head tilts back and she laughs, eyes fluttering as pleasurable tingles shoot through her body, feeling his lips brush over the tender expanse of her throat exposed to him.

She pulls her head forward again, scrunching up his access to her throat. She smiles shyly through her bangs, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his violet-colored robe. If she is envious of one of his features, it is that hair. She can never get hers to grow that beautifully, but she supposed it came with the territory of being an elf.

"Fiel," he murmurs, lips brushing over the top of her head.

She hums, doesn't speak. They're watching them, the disapproving eyes of the guards. He does not care, he will dispose of any opposed to her. Though, she knows the standards of even elves. She is not his fiancé, his bride. She is almost a mistress…a concubine if he had been previously engaged in a relationship. She lays her right cheek against his chest, soaks in his warmth, his thrumming heart beat. The court does not favor her. Again, he does not care.

But she does.

He knows it is taking a toll on her.

"Come," he takes her right hand in his, tugging her gently towards the gate into the palace carved into the mountainside. "I shall take you to my chambers. You require rest."

She can feel what he sees with those special eyes of his. The haggard appearance of mental warfare with his entire kingdom.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank the weather for this one. It's freezing here so I decided to do some writing to fit the mood. Remember to review, fav and follow!**_

_**Note: remember guys, these are NOT in chronological (?) order. They just skip around the relationship. And mind spelling mistakes, I didn't have time to proofread or edit.**_

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><p>Snow sticks subtly to the fine glass of the windows outsixe of his study. He balances his left cheek on the knuckles of his left hand, elbow digging into the oak desk through a thick cotton sleeve. He sighs and lifts his head fully, proceeding to roll the parchment he had been writing on into a tight roll.<p>

He had been writing all day, time for a break.

Locking the study behind him, he made a show of wrapping his long coat around his torso and began the slow, relatively short, walk back to his room. Sleep. Maybe sleep would help. He ran long fingers through his hair and then reached for the handle to his bedroom door.

Pausing at the threshold, he raised an eyebrow to the peculiar sight in his room. Fiel ran small circles in the middle of the large room, a fur-cuffed boot on her right foot and nothing but the same sheer camisole he left her in this morning clinging to her torso. The other boot was upside down and soon darted under the circular bed they shared. Fiel dove for it but only her arms made it under the bed, her forehead connecting sharply with the wooden frame.

She groaned and he chuckled, catching both of their attention. She looked up with a snap of the neck, her cheeks as bright as the mark on her forehead.

"Th-Thranduil," she sputtered, stumbling to her feet.

He chuckled again, despite himself and approached her. "What seems to be the trouble, my dear?"

Fiel began to sputter again before he opened his coat and engulfed her in his body heat. Her words died and her eyes instinctively closed, her own body leaning into his. She took a few deep breaths, inhaling the scent of soil, and then opened her eyes again, meeting those bright eyes she loved.

Wuthout looking back, she pointed to the bed where the boot was sticking out, something chittering inside. "Fox squirrel took my boot."

He didn't even chuckle at this, he just raised an eyebrow. "A fox squirrel?"

She shook her head vigurously and then unwound herself from his body, glaring at the boot. "I don't know how it got in but it did and now everytime I try to get my boot, it runs."

He sighed, a soft smile still lingering on his lips. As he passed her, he actually ruffled her hair, which only made her huff indignantly. He plucked up the boot, feeling it quivering, and reached inside. The squirrel was tiny, too tiny to even be away from its mother, but its ears were large and its tail was two times the size of its body, a little longer than Thranduils forearm. That was even more strange.

"Here is the culprit," he dropped her boot into her hand. "And here is your boot."

She stared at the little creature with parted lips. He raised an eyebrow at her as she dropped the boot and held out her hands. He sighed again and handed the squirrel off to her. She cradled it against her chest, cooing at it as she paced around the room.

"Let us take it outside," he spoke.

She looked up at him for a moment then shook her head, looking back down at the wide-eared thing; it was still shaking but not as badly. "It won't make it," she muttered. "Just a bit longer."

He watched her pace, another smile came across his lips. She turned slightly towards him, smiling as the fox squirrel tried to nurse on her finger. He approached her, wrappings his arms around her, chest flush against her back as she leaned into him, and his fingers danced over the starting swell in her lower abdomen.

She cooed again, this time at her own baby. "I say...this little squirrel will be perfect practice. Tiny, hungry...and always getting into things it shouldn't."

"I do not think our child will crawl into one of your shoes," he chuckled.

"If it has my fashion sense...it totally will."


	3. Chapter 3

_**I feel bad for taking this long to update. I just...to be honest, I got caught up in leveling my character in Skyrim. I suck. Oh, and I've been trying to mop up my drool from the new previews of Thranduil in the new movie so...ya know...**_

_**Prompt: **I just...I really, really want to play with Thranduils crown._

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><p>She thought she was alone.<p>

He could see why she would make that mistake. The throne room was supposed to have been cleared an hour earlier, she must have snuck in. Did she not realize he always knew where she was?

He watched in amusement as she pranced about his throne, bare feet scuffed with dirt. She giggled, accepting imaginary praise then she swiveled around, chewing her lip as she ogled his crown. It sat in his throne, untouched as it always was after the room was cleared every night.

He raised an eyebrow as she lifted it to her scrutinizing eyes. It balanced gently between her fingertips and she smiled, bowing her head gently as she slid it into place over her hair. It fit, if a bit loose, but her hair caught it, kept it where it ought to be. This prompted another twirl and she reached out, stroking the many soft fabrics that adorned the large chair in front of her.

"Yes you - oh shit!"

The heel of her right foot didn't quite catch and she began to tumble backwards, arms flailing at her sides. Seeing as he had been sneaking (well, not so much sneaking as simply walking slowly) towards the throne, he managed to get to her almost in time. He caught her by the elbow but her legs still got tangled in themselves and she was soon kneeling on the ground.

He managed a small chuckle and she craned her neck to look at him, the freckles on her cheeks bathed over in a dusty crimson. The crown had slid lopsidedly down her forehead and as she stood -with a mumbled 'thank you' - she pushed it those precious inches back up into her hair.

"H-How long -"

"The entire time."

She sputtered a few times but ultimately clamped her jaw shut and reached up for the crown, cradling it once again.

"I just..."

"You know, I won't have you punished for wearing it. Now, if you were a commoner..."

She stuck out her bottom lip and pulled one hand from the crown to gently smack his chest while her other hand pressed the crown back into her hair. "You're horrible," she muttered.

He watched her climb the stairs back up to the throne then watched her plunk down in it, her right leg splayed across the arm rest. She looked mighty cocky up there and he wasn't too surprised by her next words.

"Now kneel, peasant!"

"No."

She pouted. "Do it."

"No."

"Come on, please?!"

"No," he fought the smirk he wanted to give.

"Please?"

"Fine."

"Really," she grinned.

"No."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A big thank you to Jubchili for the latest review. Yes, you will all get a more detailed description of my OC. Patience, my dears.**_

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><p>They are stuck inside again, a storm ravaging the forest outside of the palace.<p>

Thranduil is mostly content though he, like most elves, sought the scene of the sun (or moon, as he preffered) rather than the harsh slap of nature. Patience would have to prevail and it would. For him anyway.

He had a fire lit in the early morning hours and was seated in a lavish, high-backed chair to soak up as much warmth as necessary. Right leg crossed over the left, he balanced the back of his right hand against the crooked knee and a book was held in long fingers. He turned page, humming in satisfaction.

Then, he peered up from under his brow, eyes following the shadow 'sneaking' up behind him. Did she really think she could pull it off? He did not lift his head, waiting for ber to get close enough. When she was where he wanted her, he nudged the toes of his foot against the floor, tilting the chair back to knock into her chest, gently of course.

She gave out a small squeak and stumbled a little, fingers curling at her sides in agitation. He closed the book, setting it in the fold of his leg while he folded his hands against the rough cover. Raising his chin a little higher, he was silently amused at her small form swallowed by a silhouette cast by the fire.

"Yes, dear?"

Her right eye twitched. "How can you not be wanting to climb the walls? We've been stuck in here since yesterday afternoon."

Storm season, yes it was nerve wracking but...

"There are always ways to entertain one's self while stuck indoors," he hummed.

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "How? I wanna be outdoors."

He sighed, fighting a grin as he pushed himself to his feet. "I know, dear, I know. But..." he pushed back a layer of hair from her throat, the cream colored curls warding off the heat of the flames and leaving her skin cool. "We must have patience above all..."

She caught on faster than usual, mind too naive for her own good and he noted the pink tint to her cheeks; that flush wasn't caused by the fire.

"O-Oh," she stuttered, letting him pull her arms up, instinctively clasping her fingers through his long hair. "I...I suppose being stuck indoors isn't so bad..."

"Atta girl," he murmured.

And she giggled, pressing her lips against his. His sensitive ears caught the brush of skin-against-skin, the rustle of fabric as she pressed her legs tight against themselves. It made him purr in satisfaction. He moved his right hand down her back, inching towards the hem of the blue breeches she was wearing. Oh so close...so close...

Her breath hitched in her throat just as there was a knock against the door. Thranduil growled and pulled away from his panting mess, approaching the door as she lowered herself into his chair, afraid her legs would give out. On the other side of the door stood a guard, the fabric under his chest plate red, a gate sentry.

"M'Lord," his nose was scrunched, obviously smelling the scent of arousal in the air. "The storm has cleared. Lord Elron requests your presence in the throne room."

"That meeting wasn't until tom -"

His words were cut by a squeal of delight and he was pushed back, away from the door as Fiel barrelled past him, running down the grand hallway towards the front gates, arms raised in the air above her head.

"Outside!"

Thranduil sighed, leaning against the doorframe as he pinched the space between his eyebrows. "By the Nine..."

"Sorry sir," the guard grunted.

Thranduil just grumbled.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Jubchili: **__lol, I'm glad I could make you so happy._

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><p>The random mood swings, she could handle.<p>

The times he had to keep her inside for her own safety, locked away from the world like a porcelain doll, she could handle.

The dishonor and obvious distaste both he and she sufferred in public because he had chosen a human bride, she could handle.

But, the screaming, she could not handle.

It would start as soft murmurs in the night, barely enough for her to hear so she would just wander the halls, find something to stuff in her ears and go back to bed.

But, then the screaming started and her skin began to crawl. The howls were easily enough terrifying on their own, coming from him, it made it all the more terrible. She would be jolted from sleep to him jerking on his side of the bed. She had never been good in situations like this (of course, this had never happened eith anyone other than him), so she had just curled on the edge of the bed, waiting to hear him wake, gasping for breath through tear stained teeth.

It hurt to hear this process, it was only made worse by her inability to comfort.

One night, it became too much, she couldn't do it again.

The night of Spring Harvest, after a granduous ball in the main palace, they retired to their bedroom. A joined bath, tender touches and Fiel was out like a light. Her belly had swollen to a visible lump but she was only having odd cravings, praying the stress from his night terrors would not effect their unborn child.

When her eyes opened, the screams weren't that bad, but they were enough. Sharp pangs between hurried whispers, his fingers twisting in the sheets, legs shaking.

She grunted, rolling around, getting to her knees on his side. She took a hold of his left shoulder and began to simply shake him.

"Thranduil," she whispered. "Thranduil please wake up..."

He only yelped.

Her shaking began to grow more insistent. "Please! Please wake up! I'm scared!"

He always kept her from feeling this way but now it was him scaring her and she was pretty sure he didn't even know it.

She flinched when he gasped, eyes flying open. Long fingers snatched at her right hand as she pulled away, holding her firm . Something growled between his teeth but she just stared at his face. As he slowly came down from his dazed state, he wanted to hide.

As he went to turn, to leave, she reached out and took a hold of the right side of his face, keeping him still. "Oh baby," her tone was tender, despaired.

And he hated her for it.

She saw clear through. Tendon, bone, sinew, all exposed to her tender eyes. Her fingers shook gainst the side of his face then she finally pulled away. And he fell back into his pillows, reaching to grip his bangs with his right hand. Fiel stared at him for a moment then twisted around, pulling the sheets up around her legs. She was all but swallowed by her single pillow, staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep again.

This time, when the screaming started, she only scrambled for him left hand, holding it tightly in her own.

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><p><strong>This chapter will be revised in the future because I am not content.<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

_**Yeah, the last one was angtsy as all get out but I had been sitting on that particular subject for months and had to do something about it.**_

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><p>She is insecure most of the time.<p>

She does not like to change in front of him, public displays of affection are basically forbidden, he cannot enter the bath whenever she is already in there or he receives a very impressive interpretation of a banshee.

He adores it.

"I don't like the way my hips look in this " he hears her mutter from the wardobe.

He doesn't even look up from the stained glass window, seeing the spastic blobs of chariots and horses arriving at the far gates. He sips his wine slowly, the tart mouthful of blackberries making him almost purr in delight.

"I am sure you look fine," he assures her.

"But my hips just stick out so damn far," she groans.

And he chuckles, turning around to stare at the doors, hoping to catch just a smidgen of a glimpse. He gets her left side from the back, sees her discomfort in the way she repeatedly adjusts the robes on her...oddly protruding hip bones. She picks the oddest times for self concious. On a daily basis she explores in nothing more than her smalls, maybe a robe and even then it is far too sheer to count as clothing.

"Don't look," she squeals, pulling out of sight.

He is sure her cheeks are as red as wine and just as delicious. He smirks softly, setting his goblet down with a featherlight stroke of the wrist. He approaches the wardobe slowly, keeping a wary eye out for any shoe that comes flying because of his brave venture.

He sees her sitting on a stool, cheeks in hand and her back curved in a slouch. She looks up at him with stubborn defeat in her eyes. Several gowns lay draped over every available surface besides the floor, shoes of various types in a pile in the corner.

"Those were very expensive," he mutters, standing in front of her.

"I don't care," she huffs, looking down. "I can't wear any of it."

"And why not?"

"Hips," is all she says.

He chuckles softly and holds his hands out. She looks up and stares at him for a moment then sighs in defeat, letting him help her to her feet. He pulls her close and hums into her hair, closing his eyes after a moment.

"No mater what you wear, I will know you are the most stunning woman in there."

"It's not you I'm worried about tonight," she rests her left cheek against his chest. "I have to make a good impression on these people if I am to be your wife."

He hums, swaying gently. "You do not need to impress any one of those souls in there. They are more worried about their own appearance in front of me..."

She furrows her brow as he continues to hum and sway, taking her with him until he steps on her toe. She glares up at him but he just pouts and she sees the faint violet hue to his lips.

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough."


End file.
